


Work in Progress

by the_brightest_light



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_brightest_light/pseuds/the_brightest_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Sherlock have been together for 10 years but even now Molly doesn't always understand him. (I'm shit at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work in Progress

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so if you left some constructive criticism in the comments I'll bake you brownies. 
> 
> I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own.

Molly slowly made her way up the stairs to her- no, their- apartment. Ten years had passed, and she still couldn't help the grin on her face as she thought of the home that she and Sherlock made together. People were always asking her why she hadn't married Sherlock yet, but Molly didn’t see the point. She knew Sherlock would propose if she ever wanted to but…it was just a piece of paper with their signatures on it. What she had now, her home and her daughter, that was proof enough for Molly. Proof that Sherlock loved her. And if anyone doubted that just because she didn’t have a ring on her left hand, well then they were proving Sherlock right. That ‘other’ people were dull, predictable creatures who are best avoided.

Molly could feel tiredness settling down in her bones, slowing her down even more. Although she loved her job, there were days when she had to stop herself from running out of Bart’s at five o’clock. Today had been one of those days. She had had to give an induction to the new lab assistant, Anthony. He was lovely but every time he caught Molly observing him, he would drop the beaker. Or slam the cupboard door shut on his hand. Or fall off his stool. He had excellent references though, so she put it down to first day nerves.

Molly was about to ascend the final flight of stairs when she paused. She could smell the musty, almost acrid aroma of cigarette smoke. For the last few months Sherlock had been working on small cases, nothing that should have made him revert back to smoking. She wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her. It wouldn’t be the first time.

As she entered the apartment all thoughts of political scandal or criminal masterminds left her head. Sherlock was standing by the mirror, looking down at their daughter who was sitting on the sofa. And she was smoking a cigarette. Bethany started coughing and all Sherlock said was, “You wanted to know what smoking is like. Until you finish it, you are not allowed to leave”.

“Bethany”, said Molly. She wanted to sound calm, but she said her daughter’s name in a dangerously low voice. “Give me the cigarette. Now.” 

Bethany practically jumped off the sofa, before handing her mother the forbidden item. Although Bethany adored Sherlock and delighted in the fact that most people were intimated by him, she knew that her mother was the one that should be feared.

Molly stepped forward and planted a kiss on Bethany’s forehead. “I think Mrs. Hudson wants some company for tea. Don’t you?” asked Molly.  
Bethany didn’t even pause to say yes, she ran out of the apartment. As soon as the sounds of her footsteps on the stairs faded into silence, Molly walked until she was standing in front of Sherlock.

“Seven”, she said, “our daughter is seven years old, and you gave her a cigarette!”

“Oh don’t be so shocked, it won’t do any lasting damage”, said Sherlock. He started to walk towards the window, and Molly grabbed his shoulder to stop him before shouting, “What’s wrong with you!?”

As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Sherlock turned to face her but he had strange, shuttered look in his eyes. His face, whose laugh lines and crevices and little wrinkles she loved to trace, was now blank. It had become a mask. The same mask Sherlock used when someone hurt him but he was too proud to show it. The same mask he hadn't used on Molly in a decade.

Molly could feel cold tendrils of guilt reach up from the pit of her stomach and wrap themselves around her heart, but there was nothing she could do now. She could still feel the heavy, angry presence of her words hanging in the air. It was suffocating her and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

She and Sherlock didn’t talk to each other for a week.

It was Monday again, and Molly could feel her temper about to snap. She had had to stay behind because Anthony messed up yet another simple task. She wondered briefly if she could have him transferred to another lab. Her feet ached and that, coupled with her hunger from missing lunch and the sadness that continued to weigh down her heart, made her irritable. Of course, it was exactly at that moment that Sherlock decided to waltz into her lab, his collar turned up and his coat flapping behind him. Molly had a theory that Sherlock liked trying to create the impression that he was some Byronic hero from those bodice rippers her nana used to read. 

“Sherlock, not now I’m busy” she said, not even bothering to make eye contact with him. He grasped her arms and steered her out of the room, ignoring her protests. He pulled her into an empty lab and gestured for her to sit down on a stool. As she did so, he placed a packet of her favourite crisps and a chocolate bar on her lap.  
“I don’t really have the time Sher-“she began to say before he interrupted.

“Please. For me?” he asked. Even after ten years, those three words still had a strange power over her.

As she began to eat, Sherlock turned so that Molly can no longer see his face and started speaking. “I know you’re angry about what happened with Bethany” he began but this time, it was Molly who interrupted.

“No, I’m not angry. I’m…I’m sad, Sherlock. We promised that any major milestone with Bethany we would face together. And the fact that you didn’t discuss Bethany’s interest in smoking with me, and took matters into your own hands…it…it’s as if you don’t trust me.”

Sherlock made a small noise in his throat and grabbed Molly’s shoulders. He lowered his head so there was s no way that she could avoid his gaze. “Molly…don’t. Just don’t. Everyone knows you’re the better parent. You just know how to handle everything but this…this was one thing I thought I could do right. I hate that I smoke, it makes me…it makes me weak. And I want our daughter to grow up and be strong. Just like her mother”

The last sentence was said so quietly that if Molly was a few more centimeters away from Sherlock, she wouldn’t have heard it.

Sherlock continued, “I’ve read the parenting books, and blogs and I’m nothing like a good father should be. I’m not emotionally available, I can’t help her with homework or school projects because her school still uses those out-of-date textbooks. Her teachers despise me-“

“Stop that” Molly said. Raising herself so she was standing on the tips of her toes, she cupped Sherlock’s face. “You’re not what all those books and people say an ideal Dad should be like, and that’s…that’s not a bad thing. Bethany loves you, just the way you are. You’re the one who’ll spend 3 hours with her collecting samples of all the different types of mould in our apartment because none of her favourite TV shows are on. You’re the one who would sit all night in her room when she was 5 because she was scared of the monsters. You never fell asleep, even by accident. She loves you, Sherlock. As much as any daughter can love her father.”

Molly leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock’s lips, before whispering in his ear, “And actually, I’m a little insulted…”

“Why?” he asked quietly. 

“She’s our child, Sherlock. Did you honestly think some books, written by ‘ordinary’ people are going to know how to raise her?”

Sherlock’s answer to that was to use his thumb to stroke over her cheekbone, before leaning in to kiss her. Molly knew that Sherlock hadn’t exactly apologised for what he did. And he hadn’t promised that something similar wouldn’t happen again. But she didn’t mind because what he did tell her was far more important and sincere than any apology. 

What she had with Sherlock was in no way perfect. It was still a work in progress. But she wouldn’t change it one bit.


End file.
